Some boys told me
they were on the bus
when it ran him over,
and he was still there.
I found his oily green
head spattered
with blood, his grey
breast open, emptied.
I flopped him towards
a flowerbed grave.
No proud, stiff neck.
No pontoon body, careful eye.
His lover watched me
from across the lawn,
calling with cracked sounds
as I buried him.
– John LeMasney
Stories of Failure & Kindness 